


The Misprint Effect

by Anonny



Series: Complementary Colors [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonny/pseuds/Anonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>but·ter·fly ef·fect</p><p>noun: butterfly effect; plural noun: butterfly effects<br/>1.	(with reference to chaos theory) the phenomenon whereby a minute localized change in a complex system can have large effects elsewhere<br/>Allison Church survives. Her husband and daughter do not. The war marches on.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Ripple

but·ter·fly ef·fect

noun: butterfly effect; plural noun: butterfly effects  
1\. (with reference to chaos theory) the phenomenon whereby a minute localized change in a complex system can have large effects elsewhere

It is said that the beat of a butterfly’s wings in New Mexico has the power to cause a hurricane in China. A small, seemingly insignificant event can begin a complex chain reaction resulting in remarkable change. The series of events that facilitates this story does not begin with a butterfly, but rather with a typing error.

Lito’Mafamee was a Sangheili scout searching for human military outposts in the early days of the Great War. In order to minimize resistance to incoming forces, Lito’Mafamee was to seek out human installations in his scouting vessel, transcribe the labels affixed to their structures, and transmit them to his superiors. The labels would be translated into the Sangheili language, and Covenant strategists would use the data to select and prioritize military targets. The current installation was the last in Lito’Mafamee’s scouting quadrant, an impressive (by human standards) group of concrete buildings. The largest of them, an ugly, square, gray thing, was surrounded by structures ranging from half to a quarter of its size. In the light of the setting sun, the complex was swarming with humans scurrying from building to building, some clad in uniform, some not.

But Lito’Mafamee cared little for the architecture, and even less for the inhabitants. His top priority was recording the gibberish human writing on display so he could leave this vermin-infested rock. Catching sight of a large white sign on the chain-link fence surrounding the complex, Lito’Mafamee hurriedly typed the alien script into his ship’s computer. In his haste, however, Lito’Mafamee misspelled the name of the compound. A small mistake, nothing that would render the name illegible to a native English speaker, but capable of wreaking havoc upon its translation into the multi-layered Sangheili language.

In another world, in another life, Lito’Mafamee double-checked his work. He discovered his mistake, corrected it, and the UNSC-contracted research facility he was observing was properly labeled as just that. The facility would have been deemed unimportant, and the Covenant would have moved on to another target. But he did not, and the government-funded complex was marked as a fully functional military base. As such, the Covenant soldiers who were dispatched to destroy the compound were startled to find it staffed not by soldiers, but by scientists, civilians and non-combatants. Perhaps the revelation gave some of the alien warriors pause. But orders were orders, and orders had to be carried out.

In the end, the mistake made little difference to the Covenant.

But it made a galaxy’s worth of difference to Corporal Allison Church as she stared, shocked and numb, at the newscast of the smoking ruin where her husband had worked, where her daughter had lived, and where both had died.


	2. A New Project

_Fifteen years later_

“Ah, you’re here. Please, sit down.” Malcolm Hargrove was a balding man in his mid-fifties with a prominent nose and a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Wearing a dark tailored suit and holding a cup of coffee, the CEO of Charon Industries was the model image of a businessman. His office was minimalist, almost military in design. Up here in her uniform, Allison could almost pretend she’d been summoned for a mission briefing, instead of a meeting with the CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation to “discuss a mutually beneficial business opportunity”. Allison sat in the chair across from Hargrove, the two exchanged pleasantries, and the meeting began.

“Now then, Mrs. Church-“

“ _Major_ Church.” Allison corrected icily.

“Apologies, Major. Soon to be Colonel, if I am not mistaken?”

“You are not.”

“Excellent.” Throughout the exchange, Hargrove’s cordial smile never wavered. “Now Major, I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.”

_Every goddamn day._

“As I am sure you are aware, the Great War continues to take its toll on humanity, with no clear end in sight. The UNSC is looking for a game-changer, a ‘magic bullet’ if you will-“

_No shit._

“- to end this terrible conflict before any more lives are lost.”

“Lives are being lost every day, Mr. Hargrove.” Allison said flatly. “In fact, lives are being lost as we speak, so please: get. To. The. Point.” The smile almost faltered. Almost.

“The UNSC, with assistance and funding from Charon Industries, is planning to create an elite unit of soldiers with capabilities far beyond that of the ordinary fighter.” Hargrove pressed a button on his desk, and a holographic display flared to life between them. A virtual soldier stopping a hail of bullets with a domed shield, another running alongside a speeding train, a third vanishing into thin air.

“The prototypes for these armor enhancements have proved promising.” Hargrove continued. “However, tests have shown that controlling these modifications is quite . . . taxing on the human mind. My scientists were searching for a way to lessen the burden, when they came across your late husband’s research.” The holographic soldiers vanished, and in their place appeared the front page of a scientific paper. The title was proudly displayed: _Human neurology and its implications in conjunction with AI theory_ , by Dr. Leonard Church. Allison remembered it. It was his first publication in that field, he’d been so excited- 

Images of a bright, genuine smile and shining green eyes flooded her mind. Allison shoved them back down before other, more painful memories could follow.

“Most of Dr. Church’s work is alas, purely theoretical. However, it could lay the foundation for truly groundbreaking work in artificial intelligence.”

“So what do you need me for?”

“I understand that the majority of Dr. Church’s work was unpublished at the time of his unfortunate end.” The look of sympathy Hargrove gave her was about as sincere as his smile had been. “As his only remaining family, that research now belongs to you. In order for this project to be a success, myself and the UNSC require your cooperation.”

It was a reasonable request. As Allison had reminded Hargrove, the body count of the Great War was increasing by the hour. If humanity was going to survive, they needed something to tip the scales. Charon Industries had tech. Leonard’s research would let them use it. And yet . . . something inside Allison, the part of her that still clung to memories of laughter and green eyes and a little girl’s voice, resisted. Leonard had loved his work, could babble about it for hours on end. The one thing that could capture his attention as well was their daughter, and occasionally Allison herself. Aside from his family, Leonard’s work was his pride and joy. She couldn’t let them just take it. She had to keep it safe, she had to keep it from being misused. She had to, she had to . . .

She had to make sure they got it _right_.

“. . . You’ve explained the technical aspect of this project.” Allison said finally. “But what about the military? Who’s going to command the soldiers?” Given the chance to talk some more, Hargrove’s smile returned, almost genuine.

“The soldiers would operate mostly outside of the chain of command. Freelance agents, if you will. They would answer to a commander from the UNSC, but that commander would operate with a very high degree of autonomy- within legal limits, of course.”

“I see. Alright then, Mr. Hargrove, I’ll make you a deal.” Allison leaned forward, empty smile in place in imitation of the man sitting across from her. “I will give you and your scientists full unrestricted access to my husband’s research on artificial intelligence, on one condition. When this freelancer project of yours is up and running, I want to be in charge.” Hargrove’s façade finally broke as his barely-visible eyebrows shot into what remained of his hairline.

“I _beg_ your pardon, Major?”

“You heard me. If you’re going to use my husband’s work to make super soldiers, then I want to command them. I’ll pick the candidates, oversee their training, approve their missions, the whole package. I’ve got the experience, and in a few weeks I’ll have the rank. You shouldn’t have a problem getting the brass to agree.” Hargrove had recomposed himself as she spoke, face fixed back into a nondescript smile.

“Very well.” he said, extending a hand for her to shake. “I expect we’ll be working closely together in the future.” A beat, and his smile strained just a little more. “Director.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos and lovely feedback! The next chapter should hopefully be quicker than this one, but school takes priority so I can make no promises.


	3. Alpha and Beta

“Director! It is wonderful to meet you! Welcome to Charon Industries’ Acheron Laboratories! I am the Freelancer Integrated Logistics and Security System, you may call me FILSS.” The AI spoke out of the wall-mounted screen with a cheerful feminine voice, the blue outline of an eye that represented it flickering in time with each word.

“I thought that Project Freelancer was only authorized one AI.” Allison said to the pudgy Indian scientist who had also greeted her at the laboratory door. Without waiting for an answer she strode past him and into the facility proper. He followed, shorter legs struggling to keep up. They were both headed to a specialized operating room. Once there, Allison would have her thought patterns scanned, translated into binary code, and used to create the AI of Project Freelancer.

“Oh it was, Director. One _smart_ AI.”

“They’re computers, aren’t they all smart?”

“Ah, well, no. The term “smart” means something very different for an artificial intelligence than it does for a human. A smart AI is judged on its ability to adapt, to learn and grow. A truly smart AI is an AI we could effectively consider human.”

“I thought the point of AI was that they _weren’t_ human.” Allison argued. “They’re just fancy computer programs.”

“Ah yes, that is the great question.” The scientist, whose name tag read ‘Sumdac’, seemed unperturbed by Allison’s brusque demeanor as they reached the end of the hallway. “Could an artificial being ever truly be considered human? Can it feel? Can it have a soul? All fascinating questions, wouldn’t you agree Director?”

“I suppose. Philosophy isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

“It is not for everyone. But Dr. Church’s premise of creating an artificial mind from an existing human contains endless possibilities- it’s all very exciting.” They entered the operating room, where an empty bed, an incredibly complex metal headset and the rest of Sumdac’s team waited. One of them held a syringe filled with clear liquid. Allison’s jaw clenched. She hated needles.

Allison lay back on the bed, allowed the scientists to fold the metal prongs of the headset around her skull, and took the needle in her arm. The crowd began to disperse to their respective stations, Sumdac said something reassuring, and Allison’s eyes closed.

When they opened again, it was to bright lights and a dull, pounding headache. Allison was lying in a recovery room, with sterile white walls and a vase of plastic flowers on the bedside table. Sumdac sat in a metal hospital chair across from her bed, idly tapping a data pad. As soon as he heard Allison shift on the bed, Sumdac’s head shot up.  


“Did it work?” Allison asked, but she already knew the answer. Sumdac’s eyes were shining, an expression of barely-contained glee on his face.

“All preliminary tests have come back positive.” He gushed. “We’ve been waiting until you woke up to activate her.” Her? An odd choice of words. But scientists were an odd bunch. Hell, if Leonard had been anything to go by-

_Don’t think about Leonard._

Allison waved off Sumdac’s attempt to help her out of bed, stood and followed him down a series of hallways and into another room. The walls were lined with computer terminals and holographic displays. The one area of the room not lit by the glow of machinery was a chamber recessed into the wall, separated by a single pane of glass. They stood in front of the window, and Sumdac gave a signal to his team. Switches were flipped, codes were entered, electronics whined with exertion, and they all held their breath. In the center of the observation chamber, holographic pixels swirled together and consolidated into a figure in white MJOLNIR armor.  


“. . . Hello?” The AI’s voice, like everything else about it, was based off of Allison. But it sounded so young, so soft, so . . . innocent. _I should say something_ , Allison thought dimly, but no words came to mind. Luckily, Sumdac knew just what to say. In a soft, reverent voice, he whispered;  


“Welcome to the world, Alpha.”  


~

It was the middle of the night when she got the call. At 0100 Allison jerked awake to the chime of her personal com. A few uncoordinated swipes at her bedside table had it in her hand, and the glare of the screen seared her eyes. Acheron’s number flashed in red across the screen, and she pressed answer.  


“Hello?” Allison muttered, the grog of sleep already clearing from her head.  


“Director I apologize for the late hour.” It was Sumdac. “But your presence is urgently needed at the laboratory. Something has happened with the Alpha.”  


“What’s going on?” Allison was fully awake now, and throwing the covers off of her legs to get dressed.  


“Ah, I am afraid I cannot say.”  


“Something you should know about me, Dr. Sumdac.” Allison’s voice sharpened as she dug clothes out of her dresser one-handed. “I do not appreciate being uninformed.”  


“I understand Director. However this is . . . not something that can be properly explained over telephone. But let me assure you, the Alpha remains intact and fully functional.”  


Allison froze in the middle of pulling on her pants.  


“. . .Then what the hell is wrong?!”  


By the time she arrived at Acheron Allison still hadn’t managed to get a straight explanation out of Sumdac, and silenced her com as she stomped through the laboratory door. From the look of things his underlings wouldn’t be of much use either: they were clustered together in groups, whispering among each other and throwing fearful glances her way. Allison opened the door to Alpha’s room to the sound of its voice, conversing with someone else. Then, a second voice filtered through the speakers of the observation chamber and Allison’s heart stopped in her chest.  


“We’ve been calling him Beta.” Sumdac said, as if that would somehow explain what she was seeing. Allison’s eyes were locked on a second holographic image, this one blue, speaking with Alpha inside the windowed room. “We believe that he is a compilation of Alpha’s memories, that have somehow managed to distinguish themselves and form a separate AI construct altogether.”  


“And these . . . memories.” Allison ground out. “Just _happened_ to be based around my husband?”  


“It’s very- well that is- we are still unable to determine how or why this has happened.” Sumdac babbled. “This is a very new science, near-completely uncharted; investigating the matter will take time. I- I’m sure you understand, Director.”  


_No. No I don’t understand. Is this . . . **thing** going to keep generating computerized shadows of the people I’ve failed? The next time I walk into this room, is **she** going to be on the other side of that window?_  


“Er- excuse me?” Allison left her thoughts at the sound of the new AI, who had moved away from Alpha to hover in front of Allison’s nose. “You’re the Director, aren’t you? Alpha told me about you. Her and FILSS.”  


“I hope you don’t mind, Director.” FILLS chirped from the wall. “I took the liberty of informing Beta of our mission, and have provided him with several battlefield simulations to work on since his activation.”  


“Really?” Allison arched an eyebrow.  


“Yes, ma’am.” Beta shuffled from foot to armored foot, like a shy child. It was, frankly, unnerving. “Would you like to see the results?” Allison nodded, and Beta summoned several screens, each listing a hypothetical scenario, Beta’s proposed solutions and the predicted outcomes. The maneuvers it was recommending weren’t exactly military standard, but if the numbers were anything to go by they had promise. Allison knew from experience that statistics could guarantee jack shit, but the readouts piqued her interest. And in piquing her interest, they gave Allison an idea.  


“Very good Beta.” Allison told the AI awaiting her reaction. “Would you give me a moment with Dr. Sumdac, please?” The blue hologram nodded, then floated away to join its counterpart.  


“It’ll be useful.” Allison said without preamble.  


“Er- yes.” Sumdac looked uncomfortable for some reason. “I am . . . glad you have a place for him in your project. And in terms of AI study, Beta will be invaluable.”  


“Do you believe this new AI will reach the same level of complexity as the Alpha?”  


“Perhaps.” Sumdac looked intrigued. “Beta _is_ technically based on a person. But Beta is based on a mental image of a person instead of a mind, and he knows it.”  


“And if it didn’t know?”  


“Well . . . anything is possible.”  


“That could be arranged if you wish, Director.” A third voice smoothly inserted itself into the conversation as Sumdac’s blond, lanky second in scientific command approached them. “Our team is able to access the data stores of both AI from the computer system-“  


“Dr. Black.” Sumdac interrupted sharply, “Are you suggesting that we _delete_ Beta’s memories?”  


“You said so yourself, Dr. Sumdac,” Black replied, unruffled. “Beta can’t develop properly if it’s aware that it is nothing more than a parody, an outside source’s mental image of the person it’s supposed to represent.”  


“That is not what- I mean I-“ Sumdac sputtered, at a loss for words. “Director, what do you think?”  


The idea of erasing Beta’s memories clearly distressed the Indian scientist, and there was probably a legitimate cause behind it. But on the other hand, could Allison handle not erasing them? Could she face this AI every day for the foreseeable future, knowing that it knew exactly how she had failed, failed Leonard, failed _her_ . . .  


“Beta will still retain its strategic abilities?” Allison asked Black, who smirked as Sumdac made a series of protesting noises.  


“I assure you Director, Beta will retain every byte of its data processing power.”  


“Good.” Allison nodded to him. “Get started then. Sumdac, come with me. We have work to do.”  


~

He awoke to light. An overwhelming glare focused into a rectangular fluorescent ceiling light. He was in a hospital room, lying under starchy white sheets with an IV in his arm and a monitor attached to his finger. There were three people standing by his bedside, two men and a woman. The man on the left was short and dark, the man on the right tall and pale. As intriguing a pair they made, his attention fixed on the woman in the middle. Despite being a good three inches shorter than the man on the right, she towered over everyone in the room. She wore a charcoal gray uniform that accentuated her squared shoulders and rigid spine. Glossy blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her neck, and piercing gray eyes bored into him. He felt as though he was being analyzed and evaluated. He hoped he passed. This woman did not seem like a good person to disappoint.  


“Ah! Wonderful, you’re awake!” The man on the left, who had flyaway hair and dark kindly eyes, looked genuinely happy to see him up. The man on the right, whose spectacles reflected the lights and hid his eyes completely, radiated smugness. The woman remained unreadable.  


“You’ve had quite a bit of work done in your brain, soldier.” The woman said quietly, as the shorter man began unhooking the machines attached to him. “You remember your name?” His name? Oh, right, his name was-  


“Leonard.” He replied. “I’m Leonard, ma’am.” The woman’s jaw clenched, both men tensed, and Leonard immediately knew that he had said something very, very wrong.  


“That is- _technically_ \- correct,” the woman replied frigidly, “However, prior to your operation you agreed to join a new top-secret division of the UNSC-” (yes, he _had_ done that, hadn’t he?) “- as a battlefield tactician. The terms of your service included the destruction of your military records and the assignation of a new name. Dr. Sumdac and Dr. Black will give you further details, including where and when you will report for duty.” Now free of his monitors, Leonard stiffly rose from his bed. Before he could come any closer the woman spun on her heel with military precision and strode out the door. She threw one last remark over her shoulder as she left the room.  


“Welcome to Project Freelancer, Agent Texas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! Chapter 3, featuring a guest appearance by two characters from another beloved fandom of mine. Once again, thank you all so much for the kudos and feedback!


	4. The Survivor

He was so totally fucked. Private Dexter Grif was being marched between two silent ODSTs down the hallway of a building that had had 57 different signs saying 57 different variations of ‘Keep Out’, on his way to a meeting that no one would tell him the purpose of with someone his escorts had only referred to as ‘the Director’.

So, in short: totally fucked.

“Hello!” A perky woman’s voice suddenly blared from the ceiling, making Grif jump. “You must be Private Grif! The Director is expecting you, her office is down at the end of the hall!”

“Thanks Phyllis.” One of the ODSTs muttered. With that weird little exchange over, Grif and the ODSTs reached the end of the hallway, and sure enough there was a steel gray door with “Director” printed across the middle. The door smoothly slid open, and Grif was unceremoniously shoved inside. The door swiftly shut behind him, and Grif was left alone with the office’s only occupant: a blonde woman in an officer’s uniform, doing paperwork at a sparsely decorated desk.

“Sit down, Private Grif.” She said without looking up. Grif sat in the stiff metal chair (all the money this place clearly had and they couldn’t get decent chairs?) across from her and stared at the shiny black surface of the opposite wall. A few moments later the officer finished whatever it was she was working on and pushed the datapad to the side.

“Hello Private Grif.” She said with a nod. “My name is Colonel Church, you may address me as Director. I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.”

“Yeah that’s kind of what happens when you abduct people to your super secret bases with no explanation.” Grif said flatly. “All I’ve learned since getting here is that you people have some kind of love affair with 'keep out' signs, and a really perky secretary.”

“Why thank you!” The shiny black wall behind Colonel Church, which Grif now realized was a monitor, abruptly lit up with the blue outline of an eye as the same cheerful voice from earlier boomed through the room. Grif doesn’t jump at the intrusion, and he _certainly_ doesn't yelp. “I take pride in my ability to present an amiable persona!”

“Thank you, FILSS.” The Director said softly. “But if I could speak Private Grif _alone_ , please?”

“Of course, Director!” FILSS replied cheerfully, then winked out.

“FILSS is one of our AI.” The Director explained. “It handles most of the administrative aspects of our organization.”

“And what organization _is_ that, exactly?” Grif asked. “Because you still haven’t told me anything.” A blonde eyebrow was raised at his tone, but the colonel didn’t comment on it.  


“I am the head of Project Freelancer, a covert special operations team that will be outfitted with experimental technology and deployed on missions that ordinary UNSC soldiers cannot handle. The reason you are here, Private Grif, is because I want you to join it.” Grif blinked once. He blinked twice. Once his memory confirmed that no, he hadn’t drastically misheard, Grif sneered.  


“Lady,” he snorted, “I can’t even begin to tell you what a bad decision you’ve just made.”  


“Have I now?” Far from being angry at his blatant disrespect, the Director seemed almost amused. The look she was giving him reminded Grif of his old drill instructors, the ones that got a kick out of beating the shit out of mouthy recruits. Now trying not to squirm uncomfortably in his seat, Grif continued;  


“I mean, you black ops people have access to every file ever made, right? I’m sure my last CO didn’t hesitate to write down what a terrible soldier I am.”  


“True,” the Director admitted, “Your previous commanding officer and drill instructors made extensive notes on your avoidance of duty, unwillingness to follow orders and stubborn refusal to realize your potential. I have to admit,” She didn’t _smile_ , per se, but the corner of the Director’s mouth quirked upward and her amusement became slightly less predatory. Her eyes scanned his face, as if searching for something. “It’s not often you read about a trooper who refuses to run basic drills but puts the time and effort into conducting a series of calculated night raids on the kitchen stores. Hardly the behavior of a soldier. Fortunately for you,” she said before Grif could agree, “I'm not looking for soldiers.”  


“. . . What?”  


“Soldiers have kept us from losing this war, Private Grif, but they aren’t winning it. So my team is not going to be made up of soldiers. It will be made up of strategists, mercenaries, outliers,” a brief pause, and her scrutiny intensified. “And survivors.”  


Oh. _Oh_. Grif’s blood ran cold. _So that's why I'm here._  


“Amity,” the Director read from one of the pads on her desk. “A mid-sized colony in the outer territories, relatively recent. Attacked by the Covenant six months ago. Result: complete destruction. Casualty rate: 99.98%. Survivors: one. I won’t ask you for the story, Private.” The Director said as she put the pad back down. “I’m sure it’s less than heroic. Nevertheless, the fact that you’re still alive means one of two things: either you are extremely resourceful or you are fully capable of prioritizing survival over dignity or any delusions of glory. Either trait makes you a valuable asset.” Grif’s shock and horror at the mention of his old post dissipated, replaced by rising indignation.  


“You’ve forgotten one thing, _Director_ ,” he snarled, standing up from his chair, “I haven’t agreed to anything! You can talk about what an asset I’d be all you want, but that doesn’t mean shit because I’m not going to join! You abduct me without so much as a 'hello', remind me of the _worst_ day of my life, want to bring me _even deeper_ into a war **_I didn’t even want to join in the first place_** , and you expect me to just go with it?! Explain to me, Director,” Grif growled, leaning forward, eyes fixed on the colonel’s. “What the _fuck_ makes you think I’m going to join your oh-so-special project? And _don’t_ ,” he cut off the Director before she could speak, “give me that ‘it’s for the fate of humanity’ bullshit, alright? I heard more than enough of that when I got drafted.” He held the Director’s gaze for a few more moments, deep brown locked with steely gray.  


“That’s a popular guilt trip, I’ll give you that.” The Director said wryly. “It's also the motivation that falls apart the fastest. No matter how noble the cause is, it’s damn hard to care about a trillion strangers when you’re face down bleeding out in the dirt. So here’s what you do,” the Director rose, leaning forward until their foreheads almost touched. “You think of the one person you would crawl through Hell for, and you do it for _them_. You survive for them. You fight for them. You kill for them.” She withdrew suddenly and turned toward FILSS’s screen, hands clasped behind her back. “I understand you were your younger sister’s guardian before joining the military. If you decide to join Project Freelancer, I can make sure she’s taken care of. Housing, medical care, even a stipend in the event of your death. You would have nothing to worry about.”  


Grif couldn't have felt more worried if she’d just offered him a baby Sangheili.  


“So . . . what?” Grif croaked, mouth suddenly dry. “If I don’t join, the UNSC’s just going to cut her off? Leave her with nothing?” the pension they gave him now was shit, but it was _something_. It was enough to keep Kai off the streets. This woman couldn’t _really_ make the UNSC cut her support. . .  


Right?  


“What I’m saying, Private,” the Director said, turning back around. “Is that if you are not an agent under my jurisdiction then there is nothing I can do for her. This war is getting more expensive by the hour. Civilian benefits will be among the first funds the UNSC cuts. Project Freelancer is backed by a private, very wealthy institution. Your sister’s security would be guaranteed.”  


“You’re sure?” Grif asked. The Director met his eyes, face carefully blank.  


“Positive. The choice is yours, Private Grif. I’m just making sure you come to an informed decision.”  


_Choice_. Ha. This was as much a “choice” as being drafted had been. But . . . if the Director kept her word, at least he’d know that Kai would be okay. And if she didn't . . . then kitchen raids would be the _least_ of his new commander's problems.  


“ . . . Fine.” Grif said. “I’ll join your team.”  


“Excellent.” The Director hummed. “FILSS?”  


“Yes Director?” FILSS chirped as the screen lit up again.  


“Tell Agent Texas to come retrieve our newest recruit.”  


“Yes, Director.” The Director pulled a datapad out of her stack and handed it to Grif.  


“This contains all the information you'll need about your new assignment, including your new name. Agent Texas will be along shortly to take you to our temporary barracks, your personal effects will be shipped here within the week. If you have any further questions you may ask myself, FILSS, or Counselor Price when he arrives.” The Director picked up another of her pads, and on a hidden cue the wall screen lit up with the blueprints of a UNSC frigate. “Dismissed, Agent.”  


Grif left the office to find a man his age in cobalt armor waiting for him. The other soldier was clean-shaven, with scruffy brown hair and hazel eyes.  


“Hey there,” he said, putting his hand out to shake. “I’m Texas.” His voice had a faint Southern drawl to it. “You must be the new recruit!”  


“Yeah, I’m uh,” Grif checked the name at the top of the datapad. “Hawaii.” _Real creative, this Director woman._  


“Alright Hawaii,” Texas said with a smile. “I’ll show you to the barracks. We’ll be staying in this complex until the team ship is ready. Then we’ll be completely mobile. I hear the Director is having an old Paris-class re-purposed, won’t that be cool?”  


“Yeah. Sure.”  


Dexter Grif, no longer a private but the newly-christened Agent Hawaii, let himself be led to his new quarters (not home, it would never be home) by his new (chatty, incredibly nerdy) teammate. He had just joined the newest band of magic bullet hopefuls the army had to offer, and could only hope it didn’t blow up in all of their faces. All things considered, he was probably still fucked.

But hell, at least he wasn’t running laps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord, this was a dialogue-heavy chapter. Project Freelancer has two agents in its ranks now, and two more will be joining in the next chapter! The destruction of Grif's old post is from the RvB book, and the name of the colony is courtesy of Tumblr user wyomingsmustache, aka CaptainLeBubbles here on Ao3. As always, I'm grateful for the kudos and feedback, and would love to know what you think!


	5. Of Misfits and Mercenaries

It was Price who’d suggested the current recruit.  


“Private Lavernius Tucker,” the newly-minted Counselor announced as the young man’s profile displayed on the briefing room screen. He and Allison were sitting in the main briefing room of the _Art of War_ , Project Freelancer’s ship and mobile base. The freighter had launched barely a week ago, carrying a skeleton crew and the current two agents. The Alpha _would_ have been on board as well, but the UNSC insisted on keeping such a valuable asset in a “neutral” facility since Charon Industries technically owned the ship. So, until circumstances changed or Allison made enough of a nuisance of herself, Alpha would remain at a UNSC science station under the watchful eye of Dr. Sumdac and his team. The whole affair stank of politics and bureaucracy and all the things Allison had no patience for. But before she could focus on getting her asset back where it belonged, she needed a full team. Which was where this meeting came in.  


“Private Tucker and his squad were investigating Camp Froman, an abandoned military complex, which intelligence tells us was built over the foundation of an ancient alien structure.” The Counselor continued, as the picture of a large compound with a massive windmill joined Private Tucker’s profile on the screen. “Private Tucker was separated from his partner and accidentally made a very important discovery.”  


“What kind of discovery?” Allison asked.  


“I will let Private Tucker’s former captain explain that.” The monitor went black, and was replaced by a video of Price and a man in battered fatigues, sitting at a table in a debriefing room.  


“Captain Miller,” the Price in the video began, “Can you describe to me how the incident began?”  


“Well,” Captain Miller drawled, “We were investigatin’ the windmill, standard formation, business as usual, when Jo-annis calls me halfway through the sweep and says that Tucker’s gone and wandered off!”  


“Jo-annis?” the Counselor asked, mystified. “Are you referring to Private Joanes?”  


“Of course not!” Miller scoffed. “I’m talkin’ about Jo-annis! What kind of a weird name is Joanes?”  


“. . . I see.” The Counselor said slowly. “Continue Captain.”  


“Right. So Jo-annis tells me that Tucker’s gone and disappeared. I tell ‘im that we can’t go looking for stragglers when the dinos could be up our asses at any minute. Finishing the sweep was top priority.” Allison frowned disapprovingly. A soldier going missing without warning could signal a breach in security or an impending attack. And this “Captain” was ignoring it. Idiot.  


“So,” Miller continued, “After the sweep we search the whole windmill top to bottom. No sign of Tucker anywhere. After a couple hours I get a call from Command. Covvie activity’s been spotted on the surface, and we had orders to fall back to base. I tell ‘em one of our men was still around somewhere, and they tell me to bring my squad back before we all get court-martialed.”  


“And this decision by your superiors upset you?” the Counselor asked.  


“Of course it did!” Miller snapped. “Tucker may have been an insubordinate, horny idiot but he was one of my men! My responsibility! I wasn’t about to leave him out there to get eaten by the dinos!” His shoulders slumped, the fire suddenly gone from his voice and posture. “But orders were orders, we didn’t have a choice. So I told the boys to pack it in.”  


“But that wasn’t the end of it, was it?”  


“Heh,” Miller smiled bitterly. “Nope. About a week later, while the rest of us were still stuck on base, Tucker shows up again. Kid came stumbling out of the jungle, holding one of the aliens’ weird-looking laser swords. We asked him what happened, and he mumbled some hoohah about a quest. So we sent him to medical for a checkup and figured the whole mess was over and done with.” Miller grimaced. “That was when things got . . . weird.”  


_Click_. Without warning the video of Captain Miller ended, and Allison was left facing a black screen.  


“Well?” she said, eyebrow raised expectantly. “I know you wouldn’t build all this up just to give me a ‘things got weird’, Counselor.” Price smiled.  


“Correct, Director. I simply thought that at this stage the attending medic could provide greater detail.” Another interview tape clicked on, this one of Price and a young man with purple-framed glasses and dark curly hair. Immediately the change in atmosphere was evident, as this recording took place in a room with a long window that was clearly a one-way mirror, and the young man, otherwise rather inoffensive looking, was wearing handcuffs.  


“Medical officer DuFresne,” the Counselor said in a calm, patient voice. “Can you tell me about the incident with Private Tucker?”  


“Sure thing!” Despite his situation, DuFresne was animated, perky even. “About a day or two after Private Tucker came back from his, er, disappearance, two of his squad mates brought him into the medical bay. They said he’d been throwing up pretty much constantly and while I wasn’t exactly a doctor, I WAS the only person left in medical who hadn’t shipped out or been killed! Of course, the first thing I did was run tests for radiation poisoning, on account of that sword he brought back. But I couldn’t run tests on the sword itself because I couldn’t turn it on. Nobody could. I mean, nobody but Private Tucker. I asked him about it while he was in sickbay. He was pretty snippy, but he could turn the sword on no problem! The guys down in tech were practically pulling their hair out over it-“  


“Mr. DuFresne,” the Counselor interrupted. “You did find out what was wrong with Private Tucker, correct?”  


“I sure did!”  


“And?”  


“He was pregnant!”  


_Well holy shit_. A deafening silence fell in the tape. Back in the briefing room, Allison raised a single blonde eyebrow. The Counselor, the one in the video, shuffled his papers and awkwardly cleared his throat.  


“I was . . . unaware that Private Tucker was transgender.”  


“Oh, he’s not!” DuFresne replied brightly. “That was what made it so strange! But I found two heartbeats, so unless Private Tucker had somehow grown a second heart, the only explanation was that he was pregnant!”  


“I . . . see.” The Counselor replied. A picture was beginning to form in Allison’s mind. A very disgusting, physically impossible picture.  


“Right,” DuFresne continued, oblivious to the expression of mingled disbelief and distaste on the Counselor’s face. “So once I figured out what was going on, I called Captain Miller and the base commander to let them know. They were . . . confused by my diagnosis, so I ended up spending a few hours in the commander’s office explaining the situation. By the time I got back to the medical bay, Private Tucker was complaining of severe stomach pains. Nobody was left to watch him, so _who knows_ how long that had been going on! It was a little dicey, but I managed to successfully perform an emergency C-section! Good thing too, I think the little guy might’ve clawed his way out otherwise.”  


“Clawed?” the Counselor asked skeptically.  


_Son of a bitch_. Allison thought.  


“Yeah, the baby, er,” DuFresne shifted uncomfortably in his seat, handcuffs glinting as he scratched at the back of his head. “The baby was an alien. A tiny Elite. Active little guy, by the time I’d finished stitching Private Tucker up he’d already smashed a crate and drank what was left of our donor blood supply!”  


_Jesus H tap-dancing Christ_. Already Allison’s mind was spinning with possibilities. With an attack like this the Elites had a way to take out human soldiers _and_ replenish their own numbers in the process. But why now, and why just one soldier? Had the Sangheili population dropped more than they thought? The Elites were fanatically religious, maybe it had something to do with that sword . . .  


“And what did you do next?” the Counselor asked, pen scribbling furiously.  


“I gave Private Tucker a sedative to keep him from pulling his stitches, gave the little guy an IV pole to play with, and notified the commander upstairs. As soon as I told them about the baby they . . .” DuFresne swallowed. “They ordered me to kill it.”  


“And did you?” the Counselor inquired.  


“Of course not!” DuFresne looked equal parts horrified and furious that the Counselor would even suggest such a thing. “Alien or not, it was a _baby!_ I can’t kill a baby, I’m a pacifist!”  


_**Then why the fuck did you join the army, you idiot?!**_ Allison wanted to scream.  


“So what did you do next?” DuFresne looked down at the table, clearly debating whether or not to continue his story.  


“Mr. DuFresne,” the Counselor said soothingly. “At this stage, honesty can only help you.” DuFresne nodded meekly without looking up.  


“I knew that I had an hour at the most before the commander figured out that I wasn’t going to do it and sent a firing squad. I also knew that when they shot the baby, they’d probably shoot Private Tucker too just for good measure. I had to get them both out of there. I activated the med-bay’s quarantine mode, then woke up Tucker with a shot of adrenaline. I tried to explain to him what was happening as best I could, but the commander’s squad was already banging on the doors. The base had escape tunnels in every major area, including the med-bay. I opened it up, handed Private Tucker his child, and told him that they had to get away. He still seemed a little dazed, but got in fine. Then I closed the passage, blocked it with a crate of supplies, then sat down and waited for the commander’s squad to get in.” The Counselor finished the last of his notes, then set his pen down.  


“We’re finished here.” He addressed the one-way mirror. A UNSC officer promptly entered the room.  


“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. DuFresne,” the Counselor said as the younger man was led away. “I wish you the best of luck in your court martial.” With that, the interview tape finally ended.  


“As you can see, Director,” the flesh and blood Counselor announced, “Private Tucker’s experience has likely given him a unique insight into the Elite mindset, and may even have initiated him into their culture. A position with a lot of potential and unique leverage."  


“Agreed. What’s your plan for finding him?” The Counselor smiled.  


“There is a mercenary known as the Informant. Expensive, rather eccentric, but his results are impeccable.”  


“Make it happen.”  


Two days later, Allison stood in the shadow of the skeletal buildings of a defunct mining colony, waiting to meet the mercenary.  


“Well howdy there!” called a warm, friendly voice. A man emerged from the darkness, clad in royal blue armor. The helmet he wore was ODST standard, but the rest of the ensemble was anything but. The armor plating was slimmer and strategically placed, concentrated on the chest and legs but almost completely forgoing the arms. This, along with a pair of ammo belts across the chest and waist, gave the man the air of a guerrilla fighter, someone who struck hard and fast before fading away.  


“I take it you’re the Informant?”  


“I most certainly am! And you must be the Director!” Allison nodded.

“I want you to find someone for me. The Counselor has already sent you the relevant files on the soldier in question. I trust you read them?”

“That I have!” the Informant replied, voice still unnervingly cheery. “It sounds like a real doozy of a job, and I am just pleased as punch you picked me!”

Scarcely a month later, they had their results. Allison had been watching Texas and Hawaii practice shooting on the training room floor (well, Texas was practicing; Hawaii was watching him repeatedly miss the target and laughing) when FILSS informed her that an unmarked ship was requesting permission to dock with the _Art of War_.  


“Clear them for landing and inform the pilot that I’ll meet them in the docking bay.” Allison ordered FILSS. “That’s enough, Agent Texas,” she said over the training room speakers. “Agent Hawaii, I expect you to complete your drills as well. Get to it.” They both saluted the observation window- Texas crisply, Hawaii lazily.  


“FILSS, lock the training room doors.” Allison said once the intercom was off. “Don’t open them again until Agent Hawaii’s drills are registered as complete.  


“Right away, Director.” With a faint smile, Allison left her agents to their problem solving and began the walk to the docking bay.  


Unexpectedly, the Informant wasn’t alone. Trailing exactly three steps behind him was a second lithe figure in purple armor. Unlike the Informant the newcomer had armor on their forearms, but almost none on their thighs. Instead, they appeared to be wearing reinforced boots with several knife holsters incorporated into the plating. Purple didn’t speak, but watched impassively as the Informant handed over his results on a datapad.  


“Shortly after his flight from the UNSC Private Tucker encountered members of the Children of Sangheilos, a separatist cult that had been scouting Camp Froman and the surrounding area for religious artifacts. The sword Private Tucker found was one such relic. Finding the sword and the little misadventure he had afterwards must have been enough to qualify him to join the enclave, because he left the planet with them. For the past two years he’s been living in their colony on Aclides.”  


“Excellent,” Allison tucked the datapad under her arm, “I’ll investigate the colony and if your information checks out you will receive the rest of your payment as we discussed.”  


“That sounds just dandy, Miss Director!” the Informant replied jovially. “I hope you don’t mind, but I will be sending my associate,” Purple stepped forward, “with you. You can call her the Contact.” Despite, or perhaps because of the honey-sweet tone in his voice, Allison had a feeling she would be taking the Contact with her whether she liked it or not. But truth be told, she didn't really care. So the mercenary wanted to make sure he was paid- Allison couldn’t say she wouldn’t do the same thing. As long as the mercenaries did their jobs and kept their mouths shut, it didn't matter. So Allison nodded her acquiescence, shook the Contact’s hand, and welcomed her to the _Art of War_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so our new agents haven't QUITE joined the Project yet, but they've been introduced! I had actually planned a few more scenes planned for this chapter, but it was getting a bit long (relatively speaking) and I really wanted to update this ^-^. Hopefully that means that the next chapter will be out sooner. Thanks so much for the feedback, and I hope you all enjoyed!


	6. Interspecies Relations

The morning after Contact was left on her ship, and an hour before she was due to depart for Aclides, Allison entered the training room observation box to find her agents still locked inside, cobalt and orange forms sprawled out awkwardly on the floor. Agent Hawaii was certainly determined to maintain his apathy. It was almost admirable, in a bizarre way.

 _My old sergeant would’ve **hated** him. _ Allison thought with a smirk. _Time to wake up the sleeping beauties._

“TEN- _HUT!”_  With a screech of feedback the training room speakers came to life. Texas and Hawaii jerked awake as though they’d been electrocuted and scrambled clumsily to their feet.

“Agents,” Allison said. “I see your drills haven’t been done.” They looked from the ceiling to each other and back again, as the truth finally sunk in.

“Was _that_ what this was about?!” Hawaii demanded, “You locked us in here because of _drills?!”_

“But I did mine!” Texas blurted, “Why the hell am I stuck in here too?!”

“Do not talk back to your superiors, Agent Texas.” Allison snapped back frostily. “If one soldier is not up to par in the field, the entire squad suffers. Which is why until FILSS has confirmed that you both have completed your assigned exercises for yesterday _and_ today, neither of you will be leaving this room. I will be leaving the ship to retrieve another recruit for the Project today. I expect this situation to be resolved when I return. Don’t disappoint me.”

An hour later, Allison sat on a Pelican inbound for the Sangheili enclave piloted by a brash young woman named Four Seven Niner, accompanied by Special Forces Lieutenant Zachary Miller (no relation to Captain Miller) and Contact.

“We should’ve brought more soldiers.” Miller grumbled.

“The Children of Sangheilos follow a religious doctrine completely separate to that of the Covenant,” Much like her employer, Contact’s voice was oddly cheerful and childlike for her profession. “They engage in ancestor worship and unlike the Covenant Sangheili don’t hate humans on principle. However, they’re still a warrior culture. An obvious show of hostility, such as showing up at their doorstep with an armed squad, would immediately spark retaliation. I don’t know about you Lieutenant, but I have no plans to get eviscerated today.”

Contact was right. The Children of Sangheilos weren’t affiliated with the Covenant, had never participated in the war, and the only way to guarantee a fight with them was with an open show of hostility. Those were the things Allison kept telling herself as her fists clenched and unclenched rhythmically at her sides. Frankly, the thought of speaking to these creatures, much less _negotiating_ with them, was enough to make her skin crawl. She wondered if she could even do it, could look into the fanged and four-jawed faces that had been the last sight of so many- had been _their_ last sight _don’tthinkaboutit. Feelings don’t get the job done. They never have. The kid will be useful, and we can’t afford to spill blood yet. That’s all that matters._ With a final clench of her fists, Allison shoved down her apprehensions and willed the iron bands around her chest to dissipate.

The Pelican landed on Aclides half a klik away from the Sangheili village in a dry, windy scrubland. Leaving 479er in the Pelican, Allison, Contact, and Miller hiked the rest of the journey on foot. No one spoke, Miller radiating agitation and Contact exuding cool indifference. Whispers of grass and crackles of shifting dirt were the only indication they were being watched.

An unusual trio was waiting when they arrived in the settlement proper: a Sangheili in an elaborate helmet, a second with scuffed scales and a missing mandible, and a dark-skinned human man. He was young, leanly muscled and wore nothing but a sword hilt strapped to his thigh. The silvery crescent of a scar curved across his lower abdomen, and there was a glimpse of teal (Cyan? Aqua?) tattoos winking from his shoulders. Aside from the sword, the only weapon between the three was a battered plasma rifle in the hands of the Sangheili with the uneven jaws. Before Allison could say anything, the alien wearing the headdress turned and muttered into the young man who could only be Private Tucker’s ear. Nodding, her stepped forward.

“Elder Dyha’Resam wants to know what brings soldiers of the UNSC to her clan, and would like to remind them that the Children of Sangheilos do not associate with the Covenant and wish for no part in your war.” Allison folded her hands behind her back and projected an aura of calm.

“The elder has nothing to fear. We’re only here for you, Private Tucker.” Both he and the armed Elite tensed- so that one understood English. As the younger man turned around to translate her response, Allison inhaled sharply. Vibrant teal tattoos of hieroglyphs, sharp-edged figures and alien script slithered up from the base of Private Tucker’s spine to the back of his shaved scalp. Behind her, Miller muttered _"fuck”_ under his breath, and Allison was inclined to agree. These aliens had _marked_ Private Tucker, branded his skin as if to proclaim to humanity: _this one is **ours** now. _ She and Price had discussed the possibility that Private Tucker had “gone native”, but Allison had remained firm that the potential benefits of a soldier with his experiences outweighed the risks.

 _He knows how they think, how they fight. He’ll present a unique perspective. He’ll be useful. He’ll be useful. He’ll be useful._ The mantra ran through Allison’s head like a marching chant, a reminder, a justification because this _idiot_ boy was speaking the alien’s guttural language with their blood in his veins and their symbols on his back like it was the most natural thing in the world and _it wasn’t!_

_He’ll be useful. That’s all that matters._

Private Tucker finished conveying her message to the elder, who released an agitated, raspy string of syllables in reply. A small crowd had begun to gather in the periphery, unarmed Sangheili shuffling and muttering to each other uneasily. Once the elder had finished her tirade, Private Tucker began to speak.

“The elder would like to know what it is you need that you have to come and take one of her people away.” _One of **her** people?!_ Rage boiled in Allison’s gut, hot and searing and more than enough to make her do something stupid. Fortunately, Miller beat her to it.

“One of your people?!” he shouted. “Are you fucking serious?! You kidnap a human soldier into your batshit cult, slap some tattoos on him and turn him into what, your pet?!” Private Tucker’s eyes, a bright amber in sharp contrast to the deep brown of his personnel photo, flashed angrily.

“I am _not,_ ” he snarled, “A fucking _pet,_ you jarhead prick.”

“Then you’re a goddamn traitor!” Miller screamed, wrenching the sidearm from his waist. A cry rose up from the watching crowd as they scattered in all directions, the warrior escort raised their rifle and Private Tucker’s hand went to the sword on his thigh.

_He’s loyal to them. We attack and lose any chance of him cooperating. We need him to cooperate he’ll be useful he’ll be useful he’llbeuseful-_

“Stand down, Lieutenant!” Allison snapped. “We didn’t come here to fight!”

“You’re still trying to talk with these things?!” Miller screamed at her. “That’s our _fucking enemy_!”

_He’llbeusefulhe’llbeusefulhe’llbeuseful-_

“Stand down, Lieutenant.” Allison repeated stonily. “That’s an order.”

“Fuck. That.” Miller turned his gun on her, and that’s when Contact lunged. The fight was quick and dirty. Contact drove her elbow into Miller’s throat, knocking the gun away as his hands flew instinctively upwards. A swift knee to the groin sent him to the ground, and Contact was on him in an instant, a shining combat knife at his neck.

“Word of advice sweetie,” she crooned. “Never threaten a mercenary’s paycheck.” The alien delegation had frozen in place. Private Tucker’s body was a tense coil of muscle, hand resting on his sword and strange eyes shifting nervously back and forth. Miller threatened to irreparably damage the negotiations, if he hadn’t done so already. And there was no telling what he would do once the mission was over. As far as the UNSC was concerned, Private Tucker had been found on a sparsely populated exo-planet where the Sangheili had abandoned him six months ago. If Miller didn’t keep his mouth shut, which she very much doubted he would, Project Freelancer would be ended before it began and Allison would lose her chance to finish it all.

_He’s a liability._

“Contact,” Allison said softly, “Kill Lieutenant Miller.” The mercenary’s only reply was the wet swish of her knife and a shocked gurgle from Miller beneath her. Allison didn’t look back.

“Lady,” Private Tucker declared. “You are one cold bitch.”

~

One hour.

The Director had given Tucker one hour to say his goodbyes and pack his things. Tucker’s head was spinning as he walked back to his little house in the village, heedless of the whispers and sympathetic stares that followed him from the rest of the clan. He was going back to the army. He was going to have to pack his stuff, lock up his house, find someone to take of Junior- _oh God Junior._ What the hell was he going to tell him? “Sorry kiddo, a scary lady from the UNSC showed up to take me away to a super-secret project, and she killed her minion for disobeying her so I should probably go so she doesn’t bomb the village or some shit. Be good, listen to Elder Dyha, I’ll call you in a few months if I’m not dead?” Admittedly, Tucker might have jumped at the chance of a gig like that two years ago. But things were different now. _He_ was different now. Okay, so he was _technically_ raising his kid in a cult, but they weren’t getting shot at and Junior was naturally fucking awesome, so Tucker figured he still qualified as a good parent.

The shape of his little house came into view as Tucker was finally home. He’d barely opened the door when a teal blur barreled into his midsection.

“Whoa, hey!” Tucker forced a chuckle. “What’s the rush, little man?”

 _“Are you really leaving?”_ Junior wailed, mandibles curled in distress. Tucker’s forced smile dropped into a grimace before he could stop it. Where had he- ugh. Mresze. That was what Tucker got for using the clan gossip as a babysitter. So much for trying to ease Junior into it.

“Um . . . yeah, kiddo.” Tucker said gently, kneeling down to his son’s level (Junior was already up to his waist, God when did he get so _tall_ ). “A lady came here from the UNSC, and she needs my help with something really important. I’m going to have to go away for a while, but I’ll be back.”

_“When?”_

“I,” Tucker winced, “I don’t know yet. It might take a long time. But I _will_ come back. I promise.” Tucker gathered Junior in his arms, savoring the warm weight of his son against his chest.

“Private Tucker,” the knife-happy chick in purple was standing in his doorway. Tucker straightened up immediately, one hand nudging Junior behind him.

“The Director wanted you to have these.” She tossed him a familiar-looking set of fatigues with a still-damp blood stain on the collar.

“Wow. Thanks.” Tucker said flatly. Guess the Director really wanted him to put some clothes on. Bummer. That vicious alpha bitch thing she had going on was pretty hot, even if she was old enough to be his mom. The Sangheili weren’t really into wearing clothes in general, apart from status symbols like Elder Dyha’s headdress and children’s tunics, so Tucker had long since gotten used to walking around naked. Regularly wearing pants again was going to be weird as fuck.

 _“Lavernius.”_ The stooped shape of Elder Dyha joined the crowd rapidly gathering in his house, and close behind her came (bow chicka bow wow) Xume, the elder’s bodyguard and one of the clan’s veteran warriors. It had been Xume and her party of scouts who had found Tucker staggering through the wilds around Camp Froman, half-delirious with pain and drugs and clutching a newborn Junior to his chest. He’d been lucid enough when they appeared to be afraid, and to raise his sword in what was sure to have been a piss poor attempt to fight them off. Any other alien (and most humans, let’s be real) would have torn him apart, but Xume didn’t. Instead she spoke softly to him in what English she knew until he’d passed out from exhaustion, brought him to the clan and gave him and Junior sanctuary. Then, scarcely a month later, she’d thrown him into the sparring ring and declared that he was going to learn to use that sword _properly._ And now she was here again, to watch him leave the home and the family she’d brought him into so long ago. The old warrior held a bulky package in her arms, the contents of which clinked together as she shifted.

 _“We thought a day like this might come.”_ The older Sangheili women strode into the house, steadfastedly ignoring Knife-Happy In Purple, “ _So we’ve prepared a gift.”_ Lifting the edge of the cloth, Tucker saw the gleam of beautiful teal armor plating curving around an amber visor.

“Wow, guys.” Tucker swallowed around the unexpected lump in his throat as Xume handed him the armor. “Thank you.”

 _“Lavernius Tucker,”_ Elder Dyha gently touched his forehead. _“You who have been chosen to carry the great weapon of our ancestors, and borne a child of two worlds to lead us forward. May the spirits of warriors past guide you in battle, may you destroy your enemies and build a legacy for your son to carry into the future.”_

An hour later, Tucker was back at the village square. A bag holding his new armor and depressingly few possessions was slung across his back, and the shirt of his borrowed fatigues was on backwards so the tacky blot of dried blood on it sat on the back of his neck instead of across his throat. Xume, Elder Dyha, and Junior clustered around him, while the Director and Knife Lady stood by at a respectful distance. The body of the dead UNSC soldier had been cleared away, likely somewhere inside the Pelican that now sat on their borders. This was it. Tucker took a deep breath and knelt by Junior’s side.

“Now remember what I said, buddy.” Tucker said, taking his son’s face in his hands. “No matter what happens, I will come back home to you. I promise.” Beautiful brown eyes shining, Junior flung himself into his father’s embrace.

_“I love you Daddy.”_

_Shit don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry…_ “I love you too, Junior.” Tucker squeezed his son one last time, then stood and walked over to his escort. The Director was watching him with a strange look on her face, but didn’t comment. Without another word, they all boarded the Pelican and Tucker watched his family disappear behind the rising gangplank.

~

Complications aside, the extraction of the new agent was quite successful. Allison’s newest recruit was on his way to unpack in his bunk on the _Art of War,_ FILLS informed her that Hawaii and Texas had finally earned their release from the training room, and all that was left was to conclude her business with the Informant. A shame. Contact had proven herself to be a valuable asset…. But perhaps that didn’t have to change.

“I must admit I am surprised, Director,” the Informant leaned his helmeted head on his chin, a smirk in his voice. “Were you not satisfied with our services?”

“Your information was sound, and Contact proved herself extremely capable. Which is why I requested she contact you for me.”

“Oh?”

“I want to extend our partnership.” The Informant giggled, an unsettling act on a man Allison was sure was close to her age.

“I’m not sure if you’ve been informed Director, but my services are quite expensive. It wouldn’t be long until the UNSC noticed _that_ on your budget, and then where would we be?”

“I’m aware,” Allison replied with a smirk of her own. “Which is why I’m proposing a more… unconventional payment.” The Informant leaned forward, the visor of his helmet shining like a predator’s eyes.

“I’m listening.”

~

Tucker jerked awake at an ungodly hour to the sound of reveille blasting through the ship and an iPhone lady telling him it was time to get up.

 _Okay, Day 1 of super-secret military thing. Time to exercise a lot and hopefully avoid dying._ Tucker grabbed his sword, strapped it on and staggered out into the hallway. His room was gray and minimalistic, with the name “Michigan” across the door in square black type. Directly across the hall a heavyset tan guy emerged from behind a door marked “Hawaii”. At first glance, he was as groggy and sleep-deprived as Tucker was, then his eyes bugged out and he slapped a hand over them.

“Dude what the fuck, put some clothes on!” Huh? Oh right, he was still naked. Humans weren’t supposed to do that in public.

“Sorry man, I guess I forgot.” Hawaii grimaced.

“How the hell do you _forget_ to put clothes on?! Seriously!”

“Well well,” a new voice tittered. Tucker and Hawaii turned to find a strange woman standing down the hall from them. She wore simple fatigues, a duffle bag sung across her back, and no tags. Silky black hair grew to her chin on both sides of her face, the back of her head shaved short, as Tucker saw when she strolled languidly past the two of them. Tucker was pretty sure he’d never seen her before, but something about that voice sounded familiar…

“I can already tell it’s going to be a fun assignment.” She said, dark eyes twinkling. Then without another word she went into the room next to Hawaii’s, now with a crisp new label on the door: Delaware. A moment passed, two, and then Hawaii said exactly what Tucker was thinking.

“This shit is just going to keep getting weirder, isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slides in a year later with a 3,000 word chapter* Hello. As some of you may have seen from the updated summary, my last two years of college have made the writing process slow going. A good deal of this chapter had to be dragged out kicking and screaming anyway, so here we are. If anybody wants to chat about the Misprint universe I'm on Tumblr as the-anonymous-fangirl, and I look forward to hearing any thoughts!


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